Angel or Father, Friend or Phantom?
by The Century Child
Summary: Sort of a sequel to the book. A certain girl is feeling strange feelings and doesn't know why until a certain ghost finally reveals himself... Not a Mary Sue! It's not even romance! I promise! Chapter one has been reposted, and chapter two should be soon!
1. Melisande

Reposted now! With significant changes, which are, in my opinion, for the better! These are due to my new beta, Krys, or A Phantom Moon! Go check her out! Amazing work over there! Anyway, hope you enjoy this new chappie!

By the way, I would like to reassure any new readers that this is _not_ an E/OW in the least! I despise those and would never write one myself, so I have taken great precautions to prevent that! Lol anyway, the story! Again!

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She had far too much to do. Of course, it was all _her_ fault, her situation. No one else could _possibly_ be blamed for her status, especially not her parents… She shook her head, grumbling at the way her perfect dark golden curls bumped her face. She was being bitter again, and how was she to find a husband if she was bitter every day? She was constantly asked that, and constantly had to restrain herself from saying that she didn't want a husband, that she could take care of herself. That she wasn't a porcelain doll, to be passed from person to person. That she wasn't a possession to store in a home and look at fondly. She wanted to scream, cut her hair off and throw it in their faces while she flounced out the door.

But no.

She must be docile, sweet, innocent, and, of course, submissive. As her former nanny Mme Luto told her, if she gained those qualities, she would have been married twenty times over by now. Then Mme Luto would laugh her barking but kind laugh, and her eyes would crinkle up so that her age showed even more, and Melisande would begin to think about how many years she had left with her substitute mother, and then she would become solemn and the moment's fun would be lost. Melisande could bear many things, but she could not even dream of being without Mme Luto. Actually, she _could_, and _did,_ but those nightmares were pushed to the back of her mind and never happened. They were like the concept of war. It happened, but she had never seen one, so she didn't quite grasp the reality of the issue.

But like war, death did happen.

Mme Luto had died exactly two months, three weeks, and two days ago.

She should really stop counting…

Melisande laughed at her own stubbornness. She inherited that from her father, wasn't that what everyone told her? Her father. Hmph. Melisande threw her wardrobe doors open and selected a dress at random. Why did her vision always grow slightly red when she thought of her father? He had done nothing wrong, not that Melisande knew of. And she knew plenty of both of her parents. But for as long as she could remember, there was something about her father that made her angry. When she thought of her mother, however… Melisande dropped the dress and tried her hardest to keep the tears back. Her beautiful mother…

She failed. Miserably.

She sank into a heap of sobs on the floor. When she thought about how many times she had done this, she cried even harder. The stinging of her eyes and the burning salt of the tears made her heart feel emptier then a drum.

"Wh-why?" She asked her now tear-soaked dress. She noticed it was the rose-colored one, and smiled a devilish smile. That was _one_ way to ensure that she didn't wear the dreadful thing for quite some time…

Just as suddenly as the tears came, they left. And left her with a hollowness that was so familiar to her, it was depressing. She brought herself to her feet and pulled her favorite royal purple dress out of the vast expanse of her wardrobe. The adornments weren't frivolous and it was light enough that it

wouldn't bake her underneath the sun.

"Damn thing…" she muttered as she attempted to close the door, glad that she woke early so none of the servants were near yet. She had always hated her wardrobe. It was big enough to fit several people as well as her clothing, and made her always feel as though she was being watched. She still remembered

the stories she had been told, of hobgoblins coming through her wardrobe to

steal her away.

That she could get away with cursing gave her some sort of secret pleasure, which she converted into energy and used to carry her behind her screen and change into her day clothes. She hadn't quite mastered getting her corset on by herself, however, and rang the tiny bell that was on the wall nearby for that very purpose.

A girl no younger than fifteen, Melisande's age, was entered the room and curtsied to her mistress. Melisande turned so that the girl could see the problem, and soon felt her vital organs being rearranged for the sake of society. She grimaced and slipped on her dress so that the girl could tie that as well.

She walked down the marble stairs to breakfast with a smile on her face, her hair scandalously hanging down on her shoulders. She waited for someone to reprimand her for it—

"Mademoiselle!" One of her butlers gave her her satisfaction. She turned on her heel and walked back up to her room, still smiling. She twisted and styled the hair into perfection, leaving nothing but one tiny lock hanging out. After all, even if she was the only one who noticed, it still felt rebellious.

Melisande adjusted herself in the plush seat of the carriage, finding it far too cushioned to be good for anything but show. It looked quite soft, with all its red velvet glory, but the wood beneath it bit into her thighs, making the journey even more uncomfortable. The carriage itself, though spacious, was far too cramped compared to her destination…

She gazed out the window, trying to see the roof of the opera house. She failed. The window of the carriage was too small, and the Opera Populaire was too large. She nodded to the driver as he bowed, holding the door open for her. She stepped on the small stool he had put out for her, preferring not to touch the man's dirty hands with her white gloves.

She secretly longed to have hands as dirty as his, just to feel what it was like… Of course, a speck of dirt under her fingernail would cause a public controversy. She stood at the door and turned to the thing that reminded her of her situation.

Stupid de Chagny carriage…

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Let me know what you think! I'll delete the old reviews so you cangive me new ones, lol. This story is going to be reborn! Yay! Chapter two is coming soon!

Much love to all reviewers and readers! Just remember that not all of it was done by me! You can tell, too; the really good parts were written by her, lol!


	2. Dodging Damien

Greetings, everyone! Thank you for your reviews, and here's the next chapter!

Oh, and if Miss Toni has a problem with my title, I'll be happy to talk it out with her, but I chose this title because it really does describe the story, FYI. And I'm perfectly fine with you alerting me to a mistake I made, but you don't have to insult me while doing so.I'm not out to make enemies, though, so please, just enjoy the story!

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_I do believe I'm being observed, _She thought, _But by whom? And should I let them know that I know? _Melisande wondered if what she was feeling was fear. She had never had any cause for fear, so she wasn't exactly sure. But she was certain she felt anger at that person for merely watching her and not saying anything. Finally, she turned around, hands on hips, to find… No one. Now she was truly confused. She had distinctly heard footsteps behind her…

"Ghosts do not haunt in the middle of day, if they haunt at all," she told herself, and continued to make her way toward the managers' office.

About half an hour later, she emerged, quite displeased with herself. She had gone to end the contract with the opera house, considering she had enough expenses already and never even attended the theater, and she had left with another contract for the season! She sighed. Her accountant had told her he should accompany her; why had she not listened? Those managers were obviously dirty dealers.

What Melisande de Chagny did not realize was that the gentlemen were forced to keep her there or suffer at the hands of a certain "O.G.".

There must be something wrong with her. That was all there was to it. There was something horribly wrong with her mind and she needed to have it examined. Here she was in her garden, with a strapping young gentleman, and she was not enjoying herself! Damien was kind to her, respectful, and had been here often, courting her. Everyone in her household believed they were soon to be wed. Melisande wanted to still be a child—but that had been taken from her along with her parents. If she couldn't have her childhood, then she would at least have independence for a little longer than three years! She knew that if she didn't do something drastic, and soon, that she would be forced into slavery—er, housewifery. But what to do? She turned a kind smile to Damien, who was presently reading sonnets with great skill. His light brown eyes met her dark green-blue ones, and she saw the love there. The poor boy… He wasn't going to like this.

"Damien… darling…" she hoped that wouldn't give her away. "I… have something of great importance to tell you." She thought that with her mother being an actress, she would've at least inherited the ability to lie!

"Anything. You may tell me anything, Melisande." He took her hand, eager to hear news of her willingness to wed him.

_Well, I'm certainly grateful for your permission… _"You are a dear friend to me, Damien."

"And you to me," he added quickly before she could go on. She was slightly perturbed by this, but refrained from showing it. She had at least inherited _that_ much.

"And since you are _such_ a close companion, I feel that I can make this confession to you. But," she lowered her voice for dramatic effect; "Do you swear… not to tell a soul of this?"

"If it is that dire to you, my darling, then yes, I do." She knew his honor would hold him to that, even if he didn't know what he was swearing to…

"I am… a Sapphist." She turned away, not from shame, but to hide those rebellious lips that were curving into a smile.

"Wh-what!" Damien was going to have to call the doctor soon; his hearing was failing him!

"It's true…" She turned back to him, hoping her expression was one of distress, as well as her voice. "Oh, please, Damien, don't shun me! I truly make an effort to alter my ways, I swear to you!" And she did. Just not the ways he thought she meant.

Damien stood. He knew he shouldn't be angry with her, but he couldn't help it. He felt betrayed. Why had she waited until he fell in love with her to tell him this! "Very well, then," he tried to keep his voice level, "I should take my leave of you. I will no longer come calling since it… displeases you." He walked out of the garden, not needing to be shown to the door. He was certain his tone had been bitter and sarcastic, and he was being rude by showing himself out so abruptly, but his pride was greatly injured, though he would rather swim with famished sea serpents than admit it. There was, however, a carriage already outside when he opened the door…

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I could've kept going with this chapter, but I decided to leave you guys hanging! Lol! Anyway, let me know if you guys want the chapters to be longer!

And I wasn't aware of this before I read Libba Bray's A Great and Terrible Beauty, so I figured I'd tell you guys! ASapphist "prefers the loving of women to men," as they put it. In other words, she was telling Damien she was a lesbian, lol!

Hearts to reviewers!


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